


Filled Up

by PetrichorPerfume



Series: Rainbow Marbles [50]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Begging, Bladder Control, Desperation, M/M, Multi, Needy Sam, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 18:54:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1909974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PetrichorPerfume/pseuds/PetrichorPerfume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean fills Sam up and makes him wait.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Filled Up

**Author's Note:**

> *puts on science googles* Science says that the human bladder can hold anywhere between 500-1000 mLs of water. However, bladders can be trained to hold up to 2,000 mLs (2,500 in exceptional cases). Science probably didn't consider people like that because a) think of how that conversation would go or b) they were left out of the data because they were too many standard deviations away from the mean. Or something like that. *takes off science googles* In other words, I'm entirely too invested in the scientific accuracy of demonic porn. 
> 
> Inspired by this prompt by Anon: Also, I don't know if you'd be interested in this, but I had the thought of a scenario in this verse related to this that I'd LOVE to see. So we know that no matter what he does to them, in general Dean wants his pets to be happy...so what if he decided that he wanted Sam to be able to enjoy days like this a little more, so he denies him orgasm for weeks, however long he knows Sam can take, long enough that any kind of stimulation is gonna feel good, and he gets his bladder full(either making him drink, or a catheter with a bladder enema bag so it's REALLY full, magic demon powers, anything you can think of, any way at all, lmao) and fucks with him until Sam is super desperate(idk, anything, maybe actually fucking him to put pressure on it, sounding, catheter with a valve so he physically couldn't piss, aaaaaaaanything)...then Sam has to choose, he can either piss or come, but not both.
> 
> (....it would be the best thing EVER if maybe it was actually too much, and Sam broke down on him like Cas did that time he didn't get to come for weeks, and Dean helps him through both because he needs it.)

Castiel can tell that Sam is almost at his limit. He hasn’t come in over two weeks, which is a week and a half longer than Dean usually denies him. His cock is red and leaking and twitching desperately in search of some form of stimulation. It’s beautiful, but it’s not what’s catching Castiel’s attention.

 

Cas can’t keep his eyes off of the bulge of Sam’s bladder, the way it’s straining up against the skin, begging to be relieved of its burden. It’s not just full, it’s over-full, and Sam is holding on by sheer force of will, straining against the bonds as he tries to close his legs, or bring his arms down to hold himself, or do _anything_ that will help him control the flood inside of him. His favorite part is how Sam’s cock presses against his stomach in an undoubtedly _exquisite_ torture.

 

“How full?” He asks before he can stop himself. Dean let him watch – Dean _always_ lets him watch when he teases Sam like this, knows that Cas can’t resist the sight and sounds of a desperate Sam – but he’s not sure the demon will appreciate the interruption. Sam groans and Dean grins.

 

“Let’s check.”

 

Cas smiles. He loves this almost as much as Dean does, enjoys it almost as much as Sam hates it. He knows Sam doesn’t appreciate just how much he gets off on his suffering, but he can’t help it, and besides, there are things Dean does to Cas that Sam can’t tear his eyes away from, and Cas never complains much.

 

“1731 milliliters.” Dean sounds impressed as he reads from the device – one of Hell’s inventions, designed to measure a human’s bladder capacity and fullness within plus or minus point one milliliters, because apparently other demons share the same fetish – but Cas is _awed._

 

They know from the device that Sam’s capacity is 2050, but he’s only ever gotten up to 2005 before his body gives up. Cas enjoys the distinction between _Sam_ giving up and _Sam’s body_ giving up, because they’re two very different things. _Sam_ doesn’t give up if Dean doesn’t want him to. _Sam_ lets himself be pushed to his very limit, holding and holding and holding until Dean says he can let go, but Dean can’t control _Sam’s body._ _Sam’s body’s_ limit is 2005 because even if his maximum capacity under ideal circumstances is 2050, Dean makes them drink irritants like caffeine and makes sure to press down on their bladders until they’re at their very limit. Under Dean’s sweet torture, 2005 is beyond impressive.

 

2005 is even more impressive considering that Castiel’s own capacity is only 1700. Sam’s at more than that _right now,_ a fact that does strange and wonderful things to his groin. And Castiel’s best is only 1551. That had been _Cas_ giving up, not _Cas’s_ _body._ He’s a little ashamed of the distinction, and sometimes wonders how it would feel to let Dean push him to his absolute limit, until he’s completely and wholly and utterly _Dean’s,_ _Dean’s_ to make wait, _Dean’s_ to make suffer.

 

“Please.” Sam’s voice – strained and broken and jagged – brings Cas out of his thoughts. He moans. He wants to touch, wants to press, wants to have Sam come undone beneath him. He wants to _own_ Sam so completely that he, too, can make him need for hours and hours at a time just with a simple word alone, can force him to deny his body’s primal needs and go against every instinct he has. Sam is Dean’s, though. They both are.

 

“What?” Dean asks, gently. “What do you need, Sammy?” He traces a finger alone the curve of Sam’s bladder, and Sam moans.

 

“Need-” Sam gasps. He’s so full, so desperate, so _needy_ that he’s not even coherent anymore. “Need.”

 

Dean presses his palm flat against Sam’s cock, and Sam keens. “You wanna come?” Dean teases.

 

“Yes, please, please,” Sam groans. Then Dean _presses_ and he whines. “No, no, please, I can’t hold it, _please_!”

 

Dean pulls his hand away. “If you didn’t want me to touch you, you just should have said.”

 

Sam’s hips twitch, making his bladder spasm. He cries out. “Please touch me, please, please, oh God, _please_!”

 

Dean obliges, with a hand flat against Sam’s stomach, right next to Sam’s cock, so close he can feel the heat of Dean’s skin. He bucks his hips wildly, because he needs Dean hand on his cock, needs to _come,_ but the motion makes Dean’s hand press down on his bladder and reminds him of an equally urgent need. He tries to bring his hands down to hold himself, to relieve some of the unbearable pressure, but the bonds hold tight.

 

“You wanna go to the bathroom?” Dean asks.

 

Sam nods his head desperately. “Yesyesyesyes,” he hisses. “Bathroom, please; can’t hold it anymore, can’t, _can’t,_ gonna have an a-accident, can I, please?” He’s not really sure what he’s begging for. He knows he wouldn’t make it to the bathroom, knows that if Dean let him, he’d let go right now all over the expensive silk sheets, knows that he’s on the verge of losing control _right now_ whether or not Dean says anything.

 

“Not yet, Sammy,” Dean says, hand pressing down all around Sam’s cock but not actually touching it.

 

Sam starts to cry. He needs Dean to touch him, needs Dean to let him go, needs _everything,_ and Dean won’t let him and he’s about to have an accident, and then Dean’s hand is around the base of his cock, squeezing, and he _sobs._

 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he moans. It helps, not much, but it’s more than he’s gotten all day and it’s the only thing keeping him from exploding. “Don’t let go,” he begs.

 

Then Dean lets go and he _wails._ A short spurt escapes him and he gasps. Dean slaps his cock. “I didn’t tell you that you could leak,” he growls, and Sam moans at the memory, because the last time Dean said that he _could_ leak, he’d kept him like this _all day,_ from the moment he filled up in the morning to just before he went to bed, ordering him to let go just a little every fifteen minutes, just enough so he wouldn’t have an accident. He’d been so full all day, squirming and writhing and begging and crying and even giving up _twice_ before Dean saw and ordered him to stop.

 

“I’m sorry, Master. I’m so sorry, I swear it won’t happen again!” His bladder spasms and another traitorous leak escapes him. He sobs as Dean slaps his cock again.

 

He feels the ropes around his ankles come free and his twists his legs together. It gives him just a tiny bit of relief and he savors it, but then Dean pulls his legs apart and he groans.

 

“Close your eyes, Sammy,” Dean says. Sam’s eyes slam shut. The next second, he feels Dean rock into him, cock pressing up against his bladder from the inside, and it’s all he can do not to scream. He’s still loose from before, when Dean had edged him a few times when he was still filling up and could handle the intrusion. Now, though, it’s far too much. He’s oversensitive and the way his walls flutter around Dean feels _so_ good, but the way it compresses his bladder further and makes it strain even harder against his skin doesn’t.

 

Dean doesn’t move for an entire minute. By the time he finally starts to pull out, Sam is just a pile of _need_ and raw nerve endings and desperation. He needs to come, he needs to _go_ , and the dual sensations are almost indistinguishable from each other.

 

Dean slides out and slams back in, brushing against his prostate and pressing against his bladder and it’s too much and too good and he can’t take it.

 

“Please,” he begs.

 

“I know how desperate you are,” Dean says. “I know, Sammy, I know. I’m gonna give you a choice, okay? You can come, all right? But if you do, you can’t go to the bathroom. Or I can take you to the bathroom right now and you don’t have to hold it another second, but you can’t come for at least a day.”

 

Sam’s breath hitches. He can’t imagine holding it for longer, but he also can’t imagine not coming for another day. He hasn’t come in two _weeks,_ and he’s been holding it for _hours,_ and he’s so full and desperate and he needs to come and he’ll _die_ if Dean makes him choose.

 

“I can’t,” he breathes. He feels something fundamental shatter within him and he sobs. He can’t take anymore. He _needs_ , but it doesn’t matter because he’s _Dean’s._

 

Suddenly, he’s not on the bed anymore. He’s in the bathroom, in front of the toilet, and Dean is right behind him, still _inside of him,_ and his cock is pressed right against his prostate and he starts to cry harder because it’s not _fair,_ he’s so-so-so close to the relief he needs, just one touch away from coming and just one word away from letting his bladder go, but Dean hasn’t told him he could do _either_ so he just _holds_ it and stays on the edge.

 

“What are you waiting for, Sammy?” Dean asks. The hand that isn’t aiming his cock at the toilet snakes down to press against his belly.

 

Sam whines as a small stream escapes him. He stops it as soon as he can, but it _hurts._ “Need,” he says.

 

“Go ahead, baby,” Dean coos. Another press.

 

He shakes his head. “I can’t hold it,” he whines.

 

“Then don’t,” Dean says, just against his ear. He shivers.

 

“I need to come,” he moans. “I _need_ to, Master, I can’t wait, it’s been so long and I _need-_ ”

 

“I know, sweetheart. I know how bad you need and you’ve been _so_ good so I’m gonna let you, all right?”

 

Sam shakes his head again, Dean’s earlier words still running through his mind. “I need to pee, I can’t hold it, I can’t, I’m so full and I need, please-”

 

“ _Go_ , then. You can, Sam. Just let go. I’m right here.”

 

Sam’s chest constricts. “I can’t choose, I _can’t._ I need!” He gasps as Dean presses down again.

 

“You can have both, Sammy. Just let go and I promise I’ll let you come, as soon as you’re done, okay?”

 

Sam doesn’t understand. He needs to choose, but he _can’t_ , and-

 

“Let go,” Dean whispers against his ears. It’s an order, and he obeys because he can’t _not,_ and it feels _so_ good to let go, and his whole body screams out in relief. It takes him two minutes to empty, and when he’s done he starts to cry again.

 

“Please,” he begs. “I need-” Dean’s hand wraps around his cock and within two strokes, he’s _coming,_ screaming his release long and loud and collapsing against Dean. Dean strokes him through it, then spins them around and _uses_ Sam against the wall, pounding into him into he finds his own release moments later.

 

He’s intensely grateful when he finds himself on the bed again in the next second. Cas is upon him before he can even catch his breath, touching and kissing and sucking and licking until Dean laughs and pulls him off.

 

“Relax, Cas,” Dean says. He pulls Cas into his lap and runs his hands down Castiel’s sides. “Don’t know why this gets you so fucking worked up,” he says. Cas can tell he’s not mad, but he blushes anyway.

 

“Sorry,” he mutters.

 

“Don’t be.” Dean presses a water bottle to his lips. “You’re next.”


End file.
